


holy

by orphan_account



Series: holy [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Christianity, Crisis of Faith, Existential Crisis, Heavy Angst, Hurt, M/M, Prose Poem, Religion, prose poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-17 16:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: but all that came of it was stomach acid that eventually gave way to dry heaving in the form of "heavenly father".





	1. falling

**i**. he learned long ago that life wasn't kind to boys like him. it crept up on you in alleyways and swallowed you whole in the middle of the night (and nobody could hear his screams, even in the crowded, sweaty metropolis of las vegas). spencer was ten with no father and no place to go; even if he wanted to leave, how would he? he may have an eidetic memory but that wouldn't get him nearly as far as cash would, and he knew that.

 **ii** . angels and demons were always figures reserved for children's storybooks and his mother's delusions. when she was lucid enough to go outside, she'd always grip him close whenever they walked past a church because _spencer, those people follow a man who can see inside our heads and see our every move they cannot be trusted it's only you and me now just you and me._

 **iii** . the closest spencer got to divinity in his short childhood was lying among the daisies in his back garden, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this world was so beautiful that it couldn't possibly have come around by chance alone. that was when he started attending theology and spirituality seminars, nearly always giving a fake name upon entry because in some way, he was embarrassed (because why on earth would a science prodigy believe in a higher power?). numbers and cold facts are the only things he knew he should trust but he couldn't escape the impossibly claustrophobic feeling of there being something _more_ , or something _else_.

 **iv** . moving away from vegas was so hard that he almost couldn't bring himself to do it, even when his mother had been committed to hospital at his reccomendation. guilt, sadness, nostalgia, and so much more tied him to that location, but he knew he had to leave without looking back or he'd die there. the night he moved into his new shitty apartment with a cramped kitchen but somehow almost too much space for books was the first time he prayed.

 **v** . praying was a lonely feeling. it only drew attention to how small he was in the universe and how insignificant everything he was doing was. spencer tried to physically pull out love from his barren chest to send to his mother and all the other people he left behind (but not his father yet- he wasn't ready or willing to think about that man yet) but all that came of it was stomach acid that eventually gave way to dry heaving in the form of "heavenly father". spencer had never been so connected with a singular abstract idea yet so fucking _alone_.


	2. rock bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another miserable irony

**i .** his whole life, nothing had really made sense. even a child prodigy had limits, and he'd hit those more than he could count. in a way, it made spencer angry because what use was a brain if he could never use it? he realised much later that he'd been asking himself the wrong questions. he realised what the right ones were but he'd forgotten them while strapped to a chair being forced into a drug induced haze (how maddening was it that he'd dreamed of letting go of control but the only time he was able to do that was at the hands of a murderer?). so much was simply slipping through spencer's frail fingers like rain trickling down the cracks of sidewalks and into gutters.

**ii .** the man who'd held him hostage believed in God. it scared him that there were people that would twist something as beautiful yet simple as faith into something as coldblooded and achingly final as murder. spencer had recited verses from the bible, partly to reassure the other man that he wasn't some sort of devil's spawn but also partly to self soothe. all he could smell was fish and all he knew was a threateningly cold wooden shed that was situated at the back of a graveyard. spencer didn't even know if he'd get out of this mess alive but he refused to pick someone to die, even if it meant he'd be saved. he'd only choose life for other people, even if it meant death for himself.

**iii .** track marks snaked up his arms like bruises that had been thickly rolled into the shape of veins. spencer couldn't help but feel that only a cruel God would let something like this happen. only a hateful being could allow so much suffering. fourteen hours after he got back home he'd thrown his bible into the fire he'd set in his bathroom sink. he'd opened the window beforehand but he'd thought about shutting himself in so that maybe the fire would rage out of control and he'd die of smoke inhalation. another miserable irony: spencer wanted to die by a fire set from the very book that he'd thought could maybe save him. after the orange licks of flame burnt down to ashes, he filled his bathtub with water that he estimated to only be a few degrees above freezing and plunged in, savouring the feeling of his body going into shock. a few minutes later, spencer savoured the feeling of another high brought to him by a needle that he'd reused far too many times (he couldn't bring himself to care, though).

**iv .** if only spencer could just remember the question he'd asked himself in that cabin just after he'd woken up after being given CPR. a small sliver of his subconscious mind chased the highs so that maybe he'd remember again. surely, God would care if he was off his damn face on illegal substances most of the time? spencer couldn't help but ask if He was even there.

**v .** crying in the same bathtub, still fully clothed, spencer decided He wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jsyk, the timeline in this fic is totally fucked


	3. falling in love

**i** . navigating through life was like treading water. it was fine until it wasn't; until his arms and legs started aching from supporting his own weight and his lungs started to give out. spencer kept imagining all the ways he could intertwine his limbs with another man's (well, it was one man in particular, and this man was out of the question). in all his years of life, he'd never once felt the need to punish himself for who he was and who he'd become, but the church was starting to warp the lines between self acceptance and self hate. wrapping his arms around himself and staring at the moon, spencer thought to himself that it was just the people in the church who were doing the harm, not the religion itself. why would God create something he'd only hate and send to hell in the end? many half hearted conversations with himself fell along these lines, and spencer guessed that it could be prayer. he only prayed when it was late at night and when it was dark. he didn't know why- he just did. the dark was consuming and made any place choked by it a liminal space of sorts. reality had no reason to intervene when the sun decided to light another part of the huge, dismal world.

**ii** . against all odds, spencer had built his faith into something private, like a garden seperated from the rest of the world by hedges so high that nobody bothered to see what was on the other side. buying another bible as a way to start afresh, he read over it again and again, even though by the first time, he'd already committed the text to memory. the too thin pages and the too small print coupled with the new book smell that seemed to linger eternally served as a comfort in a chaotic and confusing world. when he'd read the bible in its original hebrew, spencer mentally debunked the brittle arguments that had been made against the marginalised. something about the words being lost in translation and being misread made him relate to the book even more. sometimes, trying to believe was like pounding on a one way glass window that was soundproofed. with no witnesses and no direction, spencer became furious with himself rather than anyone else. if he just hadn't allowed himself to think that there could possibly be someone who unconditionally loved him, he wouldn't have to be in such a difficult situation.

**iii** . spencer wanted to hold a man and kiss him and be there for him in all the tender and soft ways possible. aaron hotchner was a man who seemed as if he'd been carved from marble, but if he was to fall for a statue, spencer would at least try to come close enough to touch before he hit the ground and lost consciousness. aaron deserved his own halo but a trail of bruises left by spencer's mouth leading down below the waistline of his slacks would have to be enough. spencer had loved aaron for years now, but being a subordinate would have to be enough.

**iv** . screaming to the unresponsive sky, spencer cried for the life he couldn't lead and the small circular scars littered in the parts of his body where veins were prominent. spencer cried for his parents and for the injustice in the world. he cried for the people he'd been too late to save and for the criminals who'd decided to take innocent lives. his voice tore apart his throat until his mouth was dripping blood and his hands were as dirty as they'd always been. God may not talk back, but he's one hell of a listener. sweat and tears were the foundation of spencer's awakening, but he never would have imagined that anything would be so hard.

**v** . caught in the stress of a case, spencer had let a "goodbye, i love you" slip from his lips and plant itself on aaron hotchner's face until he was lipstick red. the worst part was, he'd recieved an "i love you too". from what he recalled, 'love' wasn't defined as the feeling of waking up after a night of sex to an empty bed. 'love' wasn't kissing anywhere but on the mouth (spencer guessed it was because of aaron's intimacy issues. aaron never spoke of it.). 'love' wasn't not using your partner's damn name even while you're inside him, pulling him towards orgasm but never once looking at his face. in the end, spencer ended up adding the feeling of being used to his list of grievances to take out on the cloudless night sky.


	4. sudden death

**i** . if you lie down at the bottom of a full bath tub with water hot enough to burn your skin, you gain a new understanding. spencer had never been interested in self mortification but he wasn't doing this to get closer to God, he was doing it to punish himself. he was punishing himself for thinking that he may find love, and that anything might work out, even for a second. he'd lost himself somewhere between all the times he'd shot and been shot at, all the times he'd examined dead bodies, and all the times he'd looked at aaron hotchner (all these acts were equally as destructive and equally as damaging to his very soul). spencer watched his hair float in front of his eyes in the water, reminding himself that he desperately needed a haircut, even though he knew he wouldn't get one.

 **ii** . his life was a car crash dressed in a suit and tie. it was a bloodbath called for by his D.C. way of doing things- he fucked first and asked questions later, and that was starting to catch up with him. spencer grasped his bible again, hard enough for his knuckles to turn white and for the skin to split because of how the heat of the water had dehydrated his skin. spencer was sick; full of pride and knowledge. it turned out that having a head full of books and a thirst for intimacy had more ill consequences than good, and no amount of praying or soul searching or meditation was helping him. it was clear that he was on his own now, and probably for good reason; dependancy on others and their opinions was partly what landed him in this damning situation in the first place (but he couldn't help feeling bitter because even God had abandoned him).

 **iii** . spencer started burying himself neck deep in cold cases, eventually even solving a few and gaining credit within the bureau. from where he was standing, focusing on the scum of the earth meant that he couldn't make space in his head for feelings. his subconscious mind could start to build solutions for problems at roughly ten billion times the speed that his conscious mind could, and he was happy to exploit that if it meant that he'd be able to fix this mess somehow.

 **iv** . fixing eventually came in the form of two shots of vodka and a "just one more time". he travelled to aaron's apartment complex on foot, planning each and every thing he wanted to do to the man. the sight that met him once he actually arrived was one that he couldn't- wouldn't ever forget.

 **v** . blood. stab wounds. aaron on the floor. subtle signs of forced entry. aaron unconscious. a hole in the wall made by a gun shot. aaron possibly dying, or maybe already dead. aaron shirtless. aaron's torso bleeding. signs of a struggle. a weak pulse. calling an ambulance. his hands were so cold.


	5. in retrospect

**i** . spencer knew that he should have stayed with certainty. he should have stayed with tangible, hard fact that he could prove again and again with no variables. sometimes it seemed like all he had to show for his intelligence were qualifications imbued in a piece of stiff paper, as if that gave the fragile things more value. tens of thousands of dollars' worth of education funded by the bureau still didn't make a difference- spencer was still hollow, and under the layers of cold calculation and good intentions, that reality terrified him. it seemed as if he was just grasping for some purpose or something that made sense, and in retrospect, he hated himself for choosing religion as that purpose.

 **ii** . since finding aaron on the floor of his apartment, spencer hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol. it made his insides feel like they were being pulled out a cavity in his chest and he associated the smell of it with retching outside the apartment complex, choking back tears that refused to stay in his eyes. since that night, he'd prayed for the other man every single night, and sometimes even during the day. at first, it was a few tentative words because how do you pray for someone whose only contact with you outside of work was to beg for his body to be claimed in the most animalistic, unromantic way? eventually, it bloomed into heartfelt monologues in which silence was filled with pleads and care and something else that even spencer himself couldn't put his finger on. hope was finally blossoming where there only used to be an ache. he hadn't visited aaron hotchner but he hoped that prayer would be enough, and that the other man would understand why he couldn't bear to see him in that hospital bed.

 **iii** . spencer tried to find simple beauty in every single day. he tried to appreciate light falling into his skin and tumbling among his bones, echoing a chorus like a choir inside his body. he had good days and bad days, especially concerning his faith, but the good days were becoming more frequent, and he was learning to lean into God, even if he wasn't ready to put full trust into Him yet.

 **iv** . spencer learned that for shadows to be cast, there needed to be light. he made a conscious decision to focus on the light (but he still had to aknowledge the dark- there was a reason that everything existed, and being too optimistic had the potential of being just as damaging as being overly pessimistic).

 **v** . _dear heavenly father, i am so grateful for my life and for the fact that you've made me who i am. i know- i know i often shout and curse and ask why all this had to happen to me but the events are happening right now were set in motion billions of years ago by seemingly inconsequential events. i wouldn't be where i am right now without everyhing you've done for me, good and bad. please send my care to aaron hotchner. i've told you so much about him and i know i say that every day but- but he just needs to know that i'm there in spirit, even though i can't be there physically. heavenly father, is this the right thing? is it right to just leave, even if it's for my own wellbeing? i can't help but feel that i'm a bad person and that i could be doing more to help. i don't know. just please, help him._

_-_

"the Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble." - psalm 9:9-10

-

**end of volume one**

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you love reading this as much as i did writing it!!! hit me up at @gayreids on tumblr


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